


Yule

by 8Clarify8



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Caring, Christmas, Complete, Cussing, F/M, Friendship, Injury, Something More, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2019-11-27 15:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18196094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8Clarify8/pseuds/8Clarify8
Summary: Arya Stark convinced Sansa Stark to attend the Yuletide Hunt as the current ruling Lady of Winterfell, and as Hand of the King to attend in his place. The problem is... is that Sansa has never been on a Hunt before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This was originally for a SanSan secret santa gift, but I decided to finally post it on here for more people to read! Comment and kudos are appreciated!

 

” _How did I end up like this_?” Was the thought that had repeated in Sansa’s mind for the last few hours as she and a few others from their hunting party had been trapped in a cave, hiding from the heavy blizzard that was going on outside. 

She didn’t know how she let Arya convince her to go out with the other Lords on their Yule hunt, considering since the harsh winter had finally settled in, but here she was. 

Cases of heavy furs were opened and strewn about, making temporary beds or adding to peoples clothing, a fire was made but it didn’t do much to fight off the chill. 

She looked around her, there was only 5 of them in total, and one of them was injured at that. 

Sandor Clegane lay flat on his back near the wall of the cave, furs piled on top of him and nestled under his head, Lord Umber sat with him, checking on his bleeding wounds and making sure he was still breathing as Sansa stood watch near the mouth of the cave. 

This was supposed to be Jon’s position, leading the Hunt. Arya made the case that as the ruling Lady of Winterfell currently, and as hand of the King of the North, she should be in the Yule hunt and celebrate with her people. 

She didn’t know what a Hunt entailed, and if she survived this she didn’t know if she would participate in another again. 

“Sansa,” Lord Umber, whose name happened to be Ned, called to her. She turned to look at him, and Sandor was starting to sit up. 

To say that she didn’t quickly make her way over to them would be an understatement, her dress was heavy but that didn’t hinder her from walking or kneeling close to Sandor as he was fully sitting up now. 

“Thank you, Lord Umber. Please, feel free to take up my post.” She instructed him, the older man gave a slight stiff nod and left them alone. 

Sandor blinked, his eyes having trouble adjusting and his face twisted like he tasted something sour. 

He spat at the ground, running his tongue over his teeth as he looked at Sansa, “why does my mouth taste like piss.” 

Sansa gave a little startled laugh, looking down at the ground briefly before composing herself. She lowered the red furred hood and looked back over to the fire where there was snow melting for fresh water. 

“You drank some awful wine from one of the Lord’s earlier.” She started, “here, let me grab you some water.” 

“No,” he grabbed at her hand, “more wine.” 

Sansa frowned, but got up and made her way over the fire anyways. 

When she came back she produced a waterskin for him, he took it from her hand and downed it, and made an annoyed look at her but drank the rest of the water anyways. 

“Cheeky Bird.” Sandor said after a moment, handing the waterskin back to her. The silence between them was tense for a moment, before he looked down at his bandaged arm. “What happened exactly?” 

Sansa looked away, her cheeks tinted pink but not from the bitter cold air that circled through the cave. “I-I was stupid, completely stupid and wandered too far from the group as we were trying to find shelter.” She started, and the hand that sat itself on top of hers stalled her. 

She met his eyes, a softness there that he gave only her– she would’ve had to have been blind to not notice. 

“I slipped and fell, hanging onto the side of the cliff and you saved my life; but pulling me up you tore your sleeves and your arms on the rough cliff side.” 

“I’m glad you’re o.k, my little Song Bird.” He told her softly; she heard the chatter from the other lords, but ignored the whispers. 

“Sandor, I’m so relieved that you’re fine.” Sansa whispered to him, her fingers trailed over his, and she gave his hand a small, tight squeeze. 

“What would you have done if I wasn’t?” He asked her after a brief moment of silence, and the wide eyed stare she gave him betrayed her. His chuckle was low, and he started coughing. 

“Sandor, do you think we’ll make it home?” She asked him, he looked towards the entrance of the cave, how the blizzard hadn’t let up, he then looked around the cave and only saw a few of them from the big group that they had started with. 

“Where are the rest?” He asked, Sansa sighed once again. 

“After you were knocked unconscious we ended up getting separated, I’m not sure where the rest are, or if they’re even still alive.”

“I bet they would be saying the same thing ‘bout us.” He murmured, he sighed then. “I think we should wait through the night and try to make the trek in the morning.” 

Sansa gestured for him to give her his injured arm, and he agreed. He hissed as she started taking off the bandages, putting them in a bowl nearby to soak them later. She took another waterskin from the ground nearby, taking a swig of it and then pouring it on his arm. 

Sandor hissed as the water made contact with his skin, and he watched as Sansa ripped the bottom part of her dress to make another bandage to wrap his wounds with, and he was surprised to see small thread in his skin as well. 

“You stitched me up?” he asked her, surprise evident in his voice. Sansa gave a nonchalant shrug as the stitch disappeared under the dark fabric. She tied it tight, and as she finished her hand was grabbed once again by his. 

His eyes, dark brown, danced in the light of the fire. And her eyes, dark and shrouded by her hair, stared up into his. Her hair though glistened in the fire light and danced with the soft, cold breeze. 

“The longer I’m awake the more it seems like you’re the one who saved me, Little Bird.” He chuckled, his thumb rubbing circles in the back of her hand. His other hand found her cheek.

She couldn’t help but lean into his touch, even if his finger tips were freezing. 

“I’ll keep trying to save you if I can.” She replied gently. Sansa closed her eyes, just in time for Sandor to send a glare over to one of the other Lord’s that he really couldn’t give two shits about. 

How long had it been since he’d seen her like this? This content? This calm? 

If they made it home after this, maybe it wouldn’t have been such an awful Yule after all. 


	2. All is Fair in Love & War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SanSan Secret Santa in JULY
> 
> This is a continuation of Yule, set about a couple week to a month after.
> 
> "Winterfell was crowded with the arrival of Daenerys’ forces and all the houses who’ve come to fight Jon’s war, and it was hard to find a moment alone. Sansa found this terribly true, even as common whores threw themselves at the soldiers in her face constantly. "

**All is Fair in Love & War**

Dark hallways loomed nearly around every corner of the Stark’s family keep, the large stone walls encasing those dark corners like long lost lovers finding each other again—ever encompassing, never leaving.

Even now as Sansa stands with her back against one, snuffing out her lantern to hear the beating of her heart and the voices down the hall as it bounced off the stones- the darkness consumed her.

They were low, and _suggestive_.

 _“This is ridiculous_ ,” she thought to herself, “ _I am the Lady of Winterfell, taking care while Jon is busy. I shouldn’t be afraid of walking in my own halls.”_ But she still didn’t move.

The Wildling named Tormund walked by; two giggling women tucked underneath his broad arms as they whispered to each other and then into his ear; his responses to their suggestions weren’t as discreet.

Sansa bristled, pushing herself farther into the shadows as to avoid detection. She leaned her head against the cool stone behind her and closed her eyes, at war with herself and how… childish this all felt. Tormund and the two women moved past her, stumbling along the hallway until they turned at the end, giggling all the way.

Sansa took a breath, steadying and steeling herself for the night before her; the war against the dead was close at hand, but no one knew quite when. Jon was getting close to… Daenerys and neglecting his duties as King of the North.

It was easy to see how many of the Northern men were getting frustrated at their King’s lack of interest in serving and more interested in _serving_.

Sansa still remembers the look he gave her one evening when she asked him where his loyalties lied, and she didn’t like his answer.

She had conceded, that even if he didn’t want the title of King, he was the best suited for it.

“You’re out late,” a voice spoke up from next to her, but Sansa had gotten used to Arya’s shadowed footsteps. She slowly reopened her eyes and looked down at her younger sister, who didn’t seem so young anymore- but then again, Sansa didn’t either.

“I can’t sleep.” Was her simple reply, but she didn’t divulge why she was hiding in a dark corner in their own home. Arya didn’t ask either, but she didn’t hide her raised eyebrows and glance up and down Sansa’s frame.

“You can never sleep anymore it seems like,” Arya stated instead, but her smugness seemed to vanish as she said it. “Your eyes are so tired.”

“Of course they’re tired-” Sansa bit out, realizing what she said and then pinching the bridge of her nose. “ _I’m_ tired; of course _I’m_ tired.”

Arya didn’t try to hide her amused smile, but it faded quickly. “Sansa, sleep deprivation is serious.”

Sansa turned her head away then, clearly done with the conversation. Arya frowned fully then, bowing at the waist.

“My Lady,” she said in a serious tone, but Sansa knew better, she knew that Arya was mocking her official _-fancy-_ title.

“Miss Stark,” Sansa regarded, looking at Arya from down her nose. She stood for a moment longer, waiting as Arya turned on her heel and didn’t hide the subtle stomping as she walked down the hall.

Sansa smiled softly then, but after not hearing anyone else coming down the hallway she made her way into the main dining hall. There were men passed out at their tables, women talking low to a few of them who were still conscious but heavily drunk.

One of them, Sansa noticed rather quickly, was Sandor. Two women sat on opposite sides of him, touching his arms and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He played along, or as much as he could without saying anything or moving. He sat, stock still with his hand wrapped tightly around his mug.

Sansa frowned deeply, fingers itching to throw her lamp oil on the women and light them on fire—but no. Sansa blinked to herself, steeling her gaze and taking a deep breath. She had position, power, and responsibilities now; she couldn’t take out petty revenges on others just because she was… _jealous_.

 _Jealous_ of their fingers on his scared arms, bare to the world even though the rest of his body was covered. _Jealous_ that they got to be so close to him. _Jealous_ and _angry_ that he wasn’t fighting them off.

Sandor caught her eyes, which were hard and cut like ice, as she took a small piece of kindling and dipped it in the fire, relighting her own lantern. For him, she didn’t hide the hard gaze or the frown on her face.

He couldn’t say anything, or he didn’t want too. Either way, she turned on her heel and exited the dining hall to look for somewhere other to rest that didn’t involve sleep.

 

* * *

 

After trying and failing to read one of the many fables in the library, Sansa found herself wandering the halls like a lost ghost, holding her lantern and trailing along silently even as she moved. The stars peered out through the cloud cover, and the moon loomed over the horizon lighting up the fields of snow.

It seemed to glow, and call out to her, but the darkness here in the North was unforgiving.

Suddenly Sansa heard little clips on the hard surface of the stone floors, and she turned to watch where the sound was coming from.

Ghost emerged from the shadows; his fur brilliantly white like the snow outside. Sansa was reminded harshly about how much she missed Lady, but that seemed like a lifetime ago at this point.

“Hello, Ghost.” Sansa said quietly, softly to him like she was trying not to wake the dead he was named after. His eyes, brilliantly red in the dim candlelight, stepped closer as he snuffed at her; his ears were turning as to account for the many different sounds he could hear, and he whined at her.

Curious and frowning Sansa stepped closer towards him, he stepped backwards and circled, his tail wagging a little bit as he did. Understanding finally, she started following him back down the hallways and winding themselves deeper into the walls of Winterfell.

Sansa didn’t know where Ghost was taking her, but it was a distraction from the lack of sleep—but it wasn’t a distraction from the dreams.

Nothing was a good distraction from them; All Sansa could see was the Yuletide hunt, and how poorly everything panned out. They lost only a handful of men, but Sandor was almost one of them- because of her own _stupidity._ And even after they returned home, the moments between the two of them were scarce at best—and then they seemingly ceased all together once Jon returned with the Queen from Across the Sea and her army of Unsullied.

All Sansa could see every time she closed her eyes was Sandor—Sandor’s face as he saved her life, Sandor’s face as he slept on the cave floor, Sandor’s face as he looked at her after waking up, Sandor’s face… lifeless.

Ghost stopped suddenly, and Sansa noticed the door towards the stables had been left wide open. He blocked her exit into the bitter cold, but she knew that he led her here.

“It’s ok,” she gently slid her hand along his back, smoothing out his heckled fur. “Show me.” He looked up at her, nearly half her size (and she wasn’t small) with his red eyes that echoed secrets and knowledge she didn’t know.

He nuzzled her hand before looking back out into the darkness the night provided, his ears perked up before lowering back down. Ghost led them outside, he sniffed the air, and then the ground, following the trail out into the snow.

Sansa wrapped her fur cloak tighter around her frame, keeping a tight grip on her lantern, and stepping out into the bitter cold.

It didn’t take long to find what Ghost brought her out for, and Sansa fought every muscle in her body that reacted. Sandor laid out in the snow, in a stable that had been cleaned and unused, out in the cold. He was shivering under straw, his nose red, and apparently out cold.

Sansa wanted to cry, because this was a face of his she hadn’t seen yet—not quite. Helpless.

“C’mon Ghost, help me get him up.” Sansa hung the lantern off a hook at the opening of the stable, hiking up her skirts and going in to get Sandor.

 “Sandor,” Sansa tried to shake him awake, he grumbled something, but otherwise didn’t move. Sansa groaned, bending down to touch her nose to his, she crinkled her nose because he stunk of alcohol, but nevertheless she pressed their faces together- his skin was like ice, but his head and his nose were burning up.

Sansa moved to grab one of the man’s massive arms and draped it around her shoulders, able to miraculously sit the man up. Ghost came and was able to get Sandor’s other arm up and over the wolf’s back.

“Alright Ghost, are you ready?” Sansa looked at the wolf, who continued to stare at Sansa without moving. “Alright on three.”

“One, two-“ Sansa started, standing up with a loud and strained grunt of: “three!”

Sansa was standing, smiling triumphantly as Sandor was leaned predominately against her, but with Ghost helping balance the bulking man he didn’t immediately crush her.

Ghost looked up at Sansa expectantly, and Sansa immediately understood that they needed to find somewhere to put the larger man down or to wake him up.

“C’mon Ghost, follow my lead.” Sansa started walking them towards the open door, and the trek through the halls took forever.

Eventually though they made it to where Sansa had been guiding them too- an unused but kept up room for guests who couldn’t make it home. It was also nearest to any medicine that Winterfell had.

Sansa was able to put Sandor on the bed in the corner of the room, it wasn’t a large bed or a large room- but considering since she wasn’t certain where he had been staying—it would have to do.

Ghost sat in the doorway once Sandor was settled on the bed, but Sansa hadn’t finished yet. She knew the dangers of being out in the freezing cold for so long- frostnip or worse, frostbite.

She was able to run her hands over his cheeks, his ears, his scar, his nose, chin, anywhere on his face she touched to check. It was bright red and warm, but it didn’t seem damaged. Sighing, Sansa then took his gloves he had on off, and followed by his shoes.

Sansa crinkled her nose at the smell of his boots but moved past it anyways to make sure none of his appendages were damaged.

She sighed in relief, taking one of his hands in hers and slowly breathing on the fingertips to warm the skin back up, her hands were enclosed around the fingertips of one of his larger ones.

“Little bird,” he said hoarsely, eyes squinting through the fog of his mind as he tried to wake himself up. “Little bird, is that you?” He sounded unsure but wistful, and Sansa couldn’t help the smile at his earnest and nearly pleading tone.

“Yes, Sandor, it’s me.” She carefully touched his face, the scared side, and let it stay there for a moment. He sighed once she touched his face, even pushing his face more into her hand.

“I’ve missed your chirping,” he said groggily, and Sansa stilled completely, not used to hearing such tenderness from him. He stilled once again, and he slipped to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Sandor woke up properly in a haze, his mouth tasted like stale alcohol and the room stunk of his boots. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t move. Was he really _that_ drunk last night? When was the last time had had been that drunk?

He groaned in protest, the window leading to the outside world was too bright and so he threw his arm over his eyes. Blankets moved around him, and it took him a few moments to realize he was in a proper bed.

He stayed still for a few moments longer, waiting for his mind to wake up more and for the bed to underneath him to fade away to the ground or straw he had become accustomed to. But it never came, and as his mind woke up, he heard two separate breathing other than his own.

 _“Oh, so those whores got me into bed then by drugging me, ey?”_ he slowly uncovered his eyes and turned his head, surprised to see not a naked woman lying next to him but Jon’s white wolf sleeping curled up on the ground in front of the door to a small room. Sandor finally willed himself to sit up and was even more surprised to find Sansa curled up rather unceremoniously in a large chair in the corner of the small room. It couldn’t have possibly been comfortable.

Sandor got up carefully, making sure not to step on the beast on the floor and instead moved to cradle the beast in the chair in his arms instead, she was light, but her damn dress and furs weighed a damn ton. He stumbled a bit, his head still foggy, but he was able to lay Sansa down on the bed he was just preoccupying.

It took a lot of concentration for him to not sway and for his fingers to move dexterously enough to unhook the clasps of her cape, since he knew she liked her fancy clothes it wouldn’t do well to destroy them because she fell asleep in them.

The fur was soft and golden, it complemented her fire red hair, the same hair that he was carefully dragging his fingers through to get it undone from the braids it was still in.

“Ya fell asleep like this?” He asked her quietly, but she didn’t stir. Sandor sighed heavily, dragging her freshly freed hair across the pillow before standing up and taking the place she had occupied.

He looked outside properly now, with the brightness of the sun lighting up the clouds it was barely sunrise, and he was still tired as shit.

It didn’t take long for his own eyelids to start drooping again in the chair Sansa had been in.

 

* * *

 

 _“The Lady is missing.”_ Was what awoke Sansa, she blinked heavily as the hushed voices of concerned servants echoed against the stone corridors.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes that pounded along with her head to her heartbeat. She noticed immediately that she was in the bed now, and that Sandor had fallen back asleep in the chair she had been in.

Sansa bristled, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and standing up. She shivered once her feet touched the ground, not realizing that her own boots had been discarded by the chair she slept in.

“Sandor,” Sansa said into the room. Ghost had been awake, sitting patiently by the door. The sky was lit up more now, casting gray light in the room. “Sandor.” Sansa walked over to him, looking at his face and checking his temperature with her own, pressing her forehead against his once again.

Of course, it was then that his eyes popped open. He jumped, knocking their heads into one another. Thankfully, it wasn’t full force. Unfortunately, he has a thick skull.

“Ow!” Sansa cried sharply, tears pricking her eyes as she quickly brought her hands up to hold her head. She stumbled to the ground, her dress and robes pooling at her knees as she cradled her pounding head and groaned. Sandor cursed faintly as he rubbed his, but he took it better than she had.

“Sansa?” He questioned through squinted eyes. “Sansa!” He went to move from the chair, but she held her hand out to stop him.

“Of course, it’s me!” She hissed through her teeth, nose crinkled as she looked up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “That really hurt!”

“Yes, it fucking hurtcha. Ye weigh a stone at most.” Sansa glared at him through her tears and a pout on her lips. “Now come on, let’s get ye up.”

“I can pick myself up,” She stood shakily, her legs nearly buckled underneath her but she was able to catch the edge of the bed to hold her weight. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you! Why did you move out of the bed?”

“What?” it took Sandor a moment to remember what transpired only a few hours before. “Why did I move? Yer were asleep in this damn chair, that’s why!” He stated, standing finally and to his full height. “Ye were passed out like a rock, I moved ye to get some actual fucking sleep.” He sneered at her. “Olde God’s know ye needed it.”

Sansa visibly bristled again. “Do you know where I found you last night? You’re lucky I found you at all!”

At his sour expression but no voice Sansa concluded he didn’t know where he passed out.

“Outside! In a stable! I have no idea how long you had been out there before I found you, and I only found you because Ghost came and got me!”

“Ghost?”

Sansa pointed to the dire wolf near the door, large and imposing for a beast. Sandor regarded it carefully, before looking back over to Sansa.

“So, yer little high society hands dragged this gruff old man from the dirt?” He wanted to spit but there was no spitting pot in the room, “should’ve just left me out there,”

He moved to the door, and Sansa couldn’t get up quite fast enough to stop him from opening it. He was able to open it enough to let Ghost out, but Sansa had caught up and threw herself against it to shut it closed again.

“Sandor! I am not done talking with you,” she hissed, shocked that he tried to leave so quickly. “Have you been _sleeping_ out in the stables?”

He snorted, “stables or beds, what’s it matter?”

“Sandor! You’re lucky you didn’t lose any appendages to the cold.” She was flush with her back against the door, she was whispering at him angrily, not wanting the servants to come knocking on this door just yet.

“Ye didn’t owe me any favors, ye didn’t do me any favors, and don’t expect a thanks for the efforts.” He went to grab the handle, but she covered it with her hips.

“Why are you acting like this?” Sansa asked suddenly, almost pleadingly. As soon as she said it, she was mad at herself, her frown returned, and her self-loathing did too. “I don’t even know why I’m giving so much to you for you to treat me like you barely know me.”

Sandor stooped to her level, literally, as he was a breath away from her. There were many emotions racing through his charred brown eyes, and many of them were returned by her ice blue ones.

“Aye didn’t ask for ye to drag my ass through this house of yours, Little Bird.” He said it lowly, slowly, like he was talking to a child.

And Sansa’s fists tightened at that.

“Do NOT _Little Bird_ me when you’re acting so ungrateful! I gave you a bed! I saved your fingers, your nose, possibly your life!” Sansa’s voice was rising higher as she talked, nearly in hysterics as the tears pricked her eyes again. “Do you _know_ how many good men we lose every time the summer recedes from the North to Frostbite?”

Sandor stalled then, but still frowned. “I’m not a good man, that would’ve been the difference.”

Sansa groaned out in frustration, hitting her balled up fist against the stone wall. She cringed at the impact, bringing her fist up to inspect the sudden bright red skin and scraped up skin on the side.

Sandor, without missing a beat, picked her damaged hand up gingerly to inspect the damages himself as well. Sansa took a shuddering sigh, watching as her own tears dropped on her outstretched arm.

“I’m just trying to help you, Sandor.” Sansa said softly, quietly as he stilled in his movements. “We haven’t had a chance to- to talk, to spend any time together since Yuletide a-and, all those women just keep throwing themselves at you.” Sandor caught her eye and she stalled in her ramblings.

He took a moment to find his voice and to find his words.

“Your hand is fine,” was his final response, his accent not coming out as thick anymore. Sansa stared up at him, mouth agape. Waiting, but he said nothing more.

“I-Is that all?” Sansa asked, and at his questioning look she continued. “Is that ALL you have to say? Here I am, a blubbering mess like a fucking wife and that is ALL you have to say about the situation? What about Yule? What happened to the Sandor I knew then?” She asked, putting her hands against his chest.

He took her hands, gently, in his own. “That was a while ago, and I saved your life because you’re important- I’m not.”

Sansa stared wide eyed up at him, fresh tears pooling down her cheeks as she took her injured hand back to wipe at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’ve saved your life because you’re important to _me_.” Sansa bit out, not looking up at him as she continued to helplessly wipe at her cheeks.

“W-what?” it was quiet for a few moments until he was able to slip that out, shock and surprise evident in his very core.

Sansa looked up at him in surprise, and he would never admit to it, but she thought she could see his own eyes shining as well.

“Sandor Clegane,” she started, squared shoulders and chin up to look at him, “You’re important to me, and as Lady of Winterfell I forbid you to die by your own sheer stupidity and self-loathing tendencies.” Sandor was stunned, he didn’t move even as she stepped closer and carefully placed her hands on his shoulders. “And you are by far the most frustrating man I’ve ever had the pleasure of dealing with.”

It was quick, he didn’t have a moment to prepare—but how could he not have? It was all he could dream of, fantasized about, or even hoped for. Sansa dragged this hulking man down to her size and kissed him fiercely, tenderly, and lovingly.

Ghost stood guard outside the door, watching with mild interest as servants bustled about, calling quietly for Lady Sansa.

He growled towards a servant who sent a curious glance to the dire wolf and then to the door he was guarding when soft moaning noises were coming from the room, but at the wolf’s growl the servant continued on with their searching.  


End file.
